


We Have Heard on High

by bondageluvr (haganenoheichou)



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/bondageluvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if at the end of Kuroshitsuji II, Ciel was turned into something other than a demon? When Sebastian and Ciel find themselves on opposite sides of the eternal war, can their contract survive? Can their feelings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Something I'm trying out, unbetaed, and Kuro-II compliant. Please review!

His ears were ringing with the sting of daylight coming in through his closed eyelids. The horrendous stench of Monday morning assaulted his fine nostrils and made him cringe, painfully pulling at the sore muscles of his face. He inhaled and immediately regretted the action: the smell became even stronger, etching itself into his body as it sped down his throat like fire. Lucidity seeped in mercilessly through every sense he possessed, and seemed to beat him awake to face the day. Finally, after much struggle and deliberation, he cracked his eyes open, allowing the morning sun to flood his pupils. 

The change in lighting did not sting, surprisingly enough. He blinked several times, and the action suddenly seemed alien, as if he’d never blinked before. The strangeness of his own body began settling into his bones and muscles. They felt too light. For years, he’d been burdened with a tiny, weak, asthmatic vessel of a body; the constant pressure in his chest seemed to have dissipated, giving way to such unbearable _lightness_ … 

“You are awake.” 

He turned his head to look at the source of the voice that seemed to resound everywhere – but his ears picked up where it was stronger, that melodious, rhythmic speech pattern, that tone, those notes that reminded him of liquor-filled chocolates: smooth and sinful. 

The owner of the voice stood still as if he were carved out of marble, a perfect statue possessing a perfect voice, clad in perfectly pressed clothing. Flawless skin that seemed to glow from within, a proud yet diligent stance, unruly hair that still had some semblance of order and… Those eyes. Red like wine. Like rubies. Vermillion. Like every shade of blood he’d ever seen. The man was beautiful. 

That is, until he saw beyond the skin. Beyond the clothes. Beyond the  hair. The only thing that remained unaltered were those eyes, glowing and cat-like. The rest seemed to swim within his view, as if he were unable to focus on the man – as if there were two of them, and his vision seemed unable to chose which one to look at. 

“Sebastian,” he acknowledged, feeling his facial muscles knit together in a frown. Horrified, he clapped a hand over his mouth. Though his memory seemed slightly muddled, he was sure, so sure that his voice did not sound like this. His voice had the breaking tonalities that came with puberty, a girlish whine mixed with sudden stumbles over a yet forming tenor. However, _this_ voice, this sound that came out of his own mouth, propelled with the air from his own lungs, this was… a song. 

Unable to stand this vagueness any longer, he jumped out of the embrace of his bed and ran for the mirror that stood in the corner of the room he remembered to be his own. A beautiful, terrible scream was ripped off his lips when he saw the reflection. 

This was… what _was_ it? He stretched out a shaking hand to touch the cool surface of the mirror, simply to make sure that it was indeed a reflection, not a staged imitation, not a doorway wherein this _creature_ was hiding. The _thing_ mimicked the frightened movement of his facial muscles, a terrified grimace doing nothing to distort the fine features.

The same flawless skin that left no testament to the fact that he was a boy in his early teens. Perfectly formed lips. Dark hair that seemed softer that silk. He reached up and touched it. It was. Eyes. One blue and one purple. Shimmering, shining, framed by sooty eyelashes. And once more, that beyond-ness, that… _something_ that didn’t quite fall into focus, a light that every pore of his skin seemed to emit. As if he were something… inhuman. 

“What is the meaning of this?” The beautiful voice demanded, and he resisted the urge to cringe. A tear snuck its way down his cheek and landed on the Persian carpet beneath his fine feet, burning a hole in the threading. He watched as the burn ate away at the carpet, feeling his shoulders slump – the undignified movement also felt unnatural, as if he were not to present himself in such a way. He turned to look at the other man in the room only to see an impassive face of a statue. “What is happening to me?” 

The man remained impassive. The boy turned back to stare at the mirror. The white light surrounding his frame seemed to be slowly shifting into focus. A little more and he would be able to recognize what it was… Just a little more…

“Wings?” A hysterical note creeped into the beautiful tone, akin to a sour strike of violin strings. “Sebastian, why do I have wings?” 

“Sebastian?” 

He ran towards the man and clutched at the lapels of his butler’s attire. A small shiver of revulsion trembled throughout the man’s face before it smoothened out once again. The boy let go, staring down at his hands that looked more terrifying than claws to him. 

“What am I?” 

“Sebastian?”

“Answer me, _damn it_!”

“Calm yourself, Young Master. Such behavior is unbecoming of an angel.” 

* * *

The angel sat motionless at the table, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him atop the smooth surface. He looked at his nails. Not a single crack. Not a single break. Despite being a noble, he had still been a teenage boy, one involved in the Queen’s  _dirty work_ , no less, and though Sebastian had put in enormous effort to keep his Young Master’s hands tidy, the line of his employment had simply left no room for pampering his fingernails. 

The cracks in the table, minuscule, microscopic abrasions, seemed to assault his vision. He slanted his eyes to the right only to have the tapestry do the same. Every single detail, _unnecessary_ particularity, was visible to him. Frustrated, he leaned back and finally drew his eyes to the only other… _being_ in the room. Sebastian stood across from him, as if he were anxious to put a healthy amount of distance between his master and himself. As if the boy had some sort of contagious _disease_ , something Sebastian could not catch but was still reluctant to come in contact with. 

“Stop looking at me as if I were a leper,” sighed the boy and winced disgustedly at the charm his voice oozed unintentionally. Sebastian simply continued staring at him, his upper lip curled in an imperceptible sneer. “Whatever this is, it is… It has nothing to do with who I am. I am still–,”

“Are you sure, Young Master?” Sebastian interrupted smoothly, eyeing the boy as if he’d just scraped him off the bottom of his shoe. “Are you sure you merit that name? Being an _angel_ , a creature from _heaven_ –,”

“Enough,” Ciel said sharply, giving his butler an equally dirty look. “This body might have changed, however one thing didn’t–,”

“The covenant mark remains.”

“Exactly.” 

Sebastian’s lips seemed to thin as he looked at his master with a mixture of disgust and some twisted sort of humor. Ciel turned away, unwilling to see the expression any longer, and stalked out of his chair to stand before the mirror once more. He’d refused to let Sebastian dress him, as he had known the action would have caused the _look_ he had been getting from his butler to intensify. In his short lifetime, he’d made Sebastian do many a thing he hadn’t wanted to do. Nevertheless, the demon would comply every time, bowing dutifully and calling him his lord. Now, however, Sebastian looked like he would rather be manhandled by Grell than even touch a hair on his master’s head. 

The boy pondered at the creature he saw in the mirror for a moment and then clutched the front of his shirt, ripping it apart and sending buttons flying everywhere. He stood naked, staring at his reflection. It was a pity, in a way, that the mark his attackers had left on him as a child was gone. It had been a part of who he was, he supposed. Now the only thing left of the _real_ Ciel Phantomhive was that blasted covenant, like a dog tag, or a tombstone. Suddenly, Ciel was struck with a thought so jarring, he whipped around to glare at the butler: 

“I’m immortal now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Young Master,” Sebastian replied evenly, his scarlet eyes ablaze. 

“Angels don’t have souls, do they?” 

“I believe they don’t, sir.” 

“Ah.” Ciel nodded to himself and turned back towards the mirror. “That explains your sour attitude, doesn’t it?” 

“My Lord?” 

“Seems I cannot fulfill my end of the bargain any longer.”

“It would seem so, Young Master.”

“I would wager you are not too fond of the idea.” 

“It is not my place.”

“Oh, but it is.” Ciel gave the vague wings surrounding his reflection a final glance before walking back towards the center of the room, and stood in front of his butler, watching for his reaction. “You shall be mine forever.” 

“That is correct.” 

“And you will never get the payment you deserve.” 

“I shall not, Young Master.” 

“I can imagine how you feel, Sebastian.” Ciel sighed dramatically, his wicked blue-and-purple eyes watching Sebastian from beneath his eyelashes. “To be tied to a loathsome creature for all eternity. Must be so, so frustrating.” 

“Quite.”

Ciel sighed dramatically.

“I’m afraid it cannot be helped. If you think I wanted this to happen, you are sorely mistaken, demon. You know me to be a man of my word. I was ready to pay what you are long due.” 

Sebastian remained silent. 

“You are going to make this incredibly difficult, aren’t you?” Ciel questioned. “As if I don’t have enough on my plate already.” 

He thought he saw a ghost of a smirk playing on the demon’s lips as he turned away in frustration. What was he supposed to do, now that he had an eternity of _wings_ to look forwards to?


	2. Ein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the new chapter came faster than I expected... Probably thanks to your wonderful reviews and kudos :) Thanks so much for your support, I hope you won't be disappointed. 
> 
> I actually did a ton of research for this chapter (while at work, bad, bad Mariya), but I am quite happy with how it turned out. I'll let you be the judge, though. As always, please review and enjoy!

A dark shadow passed over the drowsy city below. Dawn was just beginning to break, and pinkish streaks of light seemed to cut through the misty grey of the early morning sky. There was a considerable chill in the air – despite the fact that it was almost spring, it seemed the winter had decided to linger just a while longer than necessary. The cold did not matter too much, however, as there was nobody out in the streets at this hour – the curfew that stood was absolute. Even the guardsmen that imposed it liked staying out of the way, lest they shot each other by mistake. There was nothing noble in dying in a pool of one’s own piss at five a.m. in the morning, in the city center of Berlin. Nothing noble at all. 

The shadow continued its flight, slithering over the rooftops of the desolate ghetto and further across, landing almost at the very outskirts of town. As its feet touched the soggy morning ground, not a single sound was made, as if the owner of the shadow were merely that – a specter. The grand white wings behind his back seemed to shimmer for a moment and disappeared, leaving a slight figure standing over a mass grave, piled high with twisted corpses and random body parts of the victims of this senseless _human_ war. 

“Grotesque, isn’t it?” 

The shadow did not turn to see who had spoken. He knew that voice down to every nuance, every note, every little exhalation that followed the end of a sentence. He shrugged, bending at the knees to sit down and examine the macabre scene. 

“Quite. So senseless, isn’t it? So _dirty_ …” He said quietly, stretching out a hand and petting the matted hair of a little girl, Shoshana Eismann, only five when she died two days ago. Shoshana, _rose_ , so pretty and weak, so white and pale, like those _roses_ back at the estate he had loved so much, those _roses_ that had been a tribute to Rachel Phantomhive, the _roses_ he’d destroyed in a fit of rage several days after he had turned. Shoshana’s eyes were still wide open, glazed over with a mist only death could induce, and Ciel decided not to try and close them. She was prettier this way. 

“All those souls, lost,” he said absent-mindedly, before finally standing up and turning to look at the new arrival behind him. “But you would have sensed that, wouldn’t you?” 

“My Master knows me well,” was the only response that came from the other. Ciel eyed his form up and down critically. Sebastian Michaelis, now Sebastian Katz, stood before him, clad in a polished and pressed uniform of an SS-Obersturmbannführer, his long black hair hidden neatly under the cap featuring the odious _Tötenkopf_ symbol, so incredibly tasteless and _tacky_ that Ciel had to let out an irate _tch._ He had to admit, however, that the uniform did Sebastian justice – all sleek and shiny like the man himself, and just as deadly. He glanced down at his own gear: a revolting brown shirt with black shorts and a neckerchief that aimed to make him look older but instead seemed to infantilize him even more. The only thing that could have lent him more importance was the holster on his belt that contained the standard _Blut und Ehre_ dagger, harmless as it was in the power of an inept handler. Luckily, Ciel was far from being inept. 

“I see you made Fähnleinführer,” Sebastian noted, eyeing the green Fangschnur that was undoubtedly attached to a whistle hidden in the boy’s pocket. Ciel huffed in annoyance. Despite the fact that he’d been _this_ for several decades now, he was still too young (or too _weak_ , he thought irritably) to be able to shape-shift. Therefore, the only influence he could gain in this place and time was that of a group leader of Hitler’s future cannon fodder. He looked at Sebastian’s shiny _Sierune_ enviously. What havoc he would have been able to wreak were he to look a day older than fourteen. 

“Not much to do in this wretched place. Even for someone like myself,” Ciel answered in a bored tone as he looked around the desolate outskirts of the once grand city. The war was coming to a close, he knew it, he knew it by the tired, stricken faces of the citizens and soldiers, he heard whispers among the other _Jügend_ members, he saw the weary glances SS officers exchanged whenever they came to lecture the children about the great Aryan race and impending victory of the _Übermensch_. They were not going to win this war, and Ciel had front-row seats to witness the disaster. 

It had been easy to insert himself into everyday German life, to convince the _tiny, insignificant_ humans that ran the Reich (or thought they did) that he was a mere boy, Karl Himmel, born of a German mother and a German father, yet orphaned at a young age and now cared for by his father’s faithful subordinate, Sebastian. The two were subtle in their deception, completely and utterly inconspicuous, save for the infrequent occasions when documents had to be forget and people had to be bribed. After they’d settled in, Ciel left his butler to his own devices and paved his way through the _Hitler Jügend_ ranks. He’d decided not to burden the demon with his presence – as the very sight of him still seemed repulsive to Sebastian. It had used to sadden him at first, after he’d first discovered what Hannah had turned him into, yet as time went by he’d realized it was no so much his own problem as Sebastian’s. Thus, he gave the demon relative freedom, and the latter tried to soften the disgust that shadowed his handsome face every time he laid eyes on the boy. 

“What do you think will happen?” Ciel asked the demon who had more experience of witnessing human feuds than himself. The demon stared into the distance, inhaling the air carefully, as if expecting a fowl smell to enter his nostrils with it. 

“The humans will continue killing each other,” he answered solemnly. “They will destroy each other. The side with lesser morals will perish. Or, perhaps, not. Who knows? Humans are so _interesting_.” 

Ciel scoffed. 

“I suppose your former self would have found this particular collection of bastards fascinating.” 

“A splendid feast fit for a gourmet. However, as I cannot–,”

“As you cannot–,”

“–I will simply watch them squabble together with you. Perhaps push around a rook or two, simply for fun.”

“You have a very strange definition of fun, demon.” 

“Much like yours, _angel._ ”

“Hold your tongue.” 

“Is that an order?” 

“ _Tch_.”

* * *

A couple of months passed and the day they’d been waiting for came, expected and predictable as it was. Fires burned all over Berlin, people fled and cried and died before their eyes. Ciel stood quietly in the alleyway, watching the Soviet Flag being raised over the Reichstag. 

“It’s over.” 

He slanted his eyes to look at the tall shape that appeared next to him in the narrow passage. Sebastian had, intelligently enough, exchanged his SS uniform for something less conspicuous – dark pants and a linen shirt of a villager, to go with his own simple garb. It was best to avoid being taken hostage by the Soviets. Ciel had heard of the atrocities they had committed on the way to the capital of the Reich, and though he was technically invincible to petty human torture, it was an experience both he and Sebastian had agreed was best postponed to a later date. 

“Very astute observation, Sebastian.” 

“I live to amuse you, Master,” the demon replied humorlessly and turned back to watch the flames consume a nearby house. 

“The bastard committed suicide. Couldn’t take facing defeat,” Ciel said quietly, his voice tinted with disdain. “What weakness.” 

“Not something your former self would have done, then?” Sebastian inquired slyly, his only happiness being getting a rise out of his eternal master. Ciel looked at him irritably and slouched against the wall of the house. 

“If you thought that, then you did not know me at all, demon.” 

“I merely asked whether–,”

“Well, well, well, fancy meeting _you_ here.” 

“Oh, no.” 

The pair turned around to see Grell Sutcliffe and William T. Spears march down the alleyway, their faithful scythes in hand. Ciel shifted behind Sebastian so they wouldn’t see him, however as the two got closer and closer, Grell’s face took on an expression of horrified realization, pity, and then all-consuming anger, all within a span of one split-second. 

“What are _you_ doing alive, you little brat?” He asked shrilly, the hysterical notes threatening to shatter the windows that had not been destroyed yet by the fire. 

“Mr. Sutcliffe, I would ask you to refrain–,”

“Silence, demon,” Spears interrupted, regarding Ciel with scrutiny. “Sutcliffe’s question is one that interests me as well. What _are_ you doing alive, Ciel Phantomhive, former Earl of Phantomhive who presumably _died_ , according to our bookkeeping, some fifty-six years ago? This means overtime, little lord, so choose your words well.” 

“How _dare_ you?” Ciel asked quietly, his voice dangerous. You will watch who you’re talking to, Death God.” 

“How dare _you_?” Spears questioned, shifting his glass back onto the bridge of his knows with his scythe. “As far as I know, mere humans must cower in the presence of–,” 

“Humans, perhaps,” Sebastian said simply. “However, it is no longer the case that my Master is human, you see.” 

The two Death Gods stared at Sebastian blankly, awaiting an explanation. When none came, Grell approached the boy with a curious air and bent down to take a closer look at his face:

“Seems he still has the mark. Not a single blemish, though. How unfair is it that a simple brat has perfect skin at such an age… What _are_ you, Ciel Phantomhive, if not a human, then? Perhaps I should prod you with my scythe to find out.” He raised the chainsaw. 

“No, don’t–,” Sebastian tried before a blinding light engulfed the entire alleyway and the four of them were consumed in white. He saw Ciel Phantomhive’s fragile exterior drop as his angelic nature surfaced, blue and violet eyes blazing with purity, and snowy wings sprouting out of his back, damaging the walls of the nearby houses in the process with their sheer strength. The boy seemed to have gained certain control over his powers, Sebastian mused, however he knew better than anyone that besides growing wings and flying, the little angel knew nothing of the powers his kind wielded. He had been in contact with one single angel in his entire life, after all, and that little encounter had nearly cost him said life. Despite his ignorance of angelic matters, the boy still looked menacing, and the two Death Gods stepped back, their hands tightening over their scythes nervously. 

“It cannot be,” Spears whispered, awed. “This was not on record, this is –,” 

“Absolutely impossible!” Grell screeched, putting up a hand to shield his eyes from the light. “How can you be an angel? How can Sebastian _be near_ an angel, unless…” He trailed off, rounding on Sebastian, who watched the scene unfold calmly. “… the contract sigil is still intact.” 

Sebastian humorlessly slid off his glove and showed of the mark on the back of his hand, still as pitch-black and fresh as it had been the day they’d made the contract. 

“Poor Sebby,” Grell said quietly, his usual boisterous nature having suddenly evaporated. “You mean this brat–,”

The light seemed to glow brighter. 

“–this boy, you are to serve him forever?” 

Ciel’s form shifted back as the wings slowly faded from sight, restoring the alleyway to its proper darkness. 

“For eternity, Sebastian is my butler. I am an angel due a series of unfortunate events I cannot be bothered to explain. Now, if you will excuse us, we will be well on our merry way. After all…” He turned to William. “You shall not have to worry about Sebastian _stealing_ any souls anymore.”

Will seemed to consider this for a moment before sighing. 

“Perhaps. Though I am not happy about this turn of events–,”

“ _You’re_ not happy? I am murderous, I am Death–,”

“Grell, please.” William put up a hand. “This is a good opportunity to teach these demonic curs a lesson.” 

Ciel nodded, a small smirk playing on his boyish face. 

“I am glad we understand each other.”

“Until next time, then.” 

“It would seem so.” 

And the angel and demon left a sputtering Grell in their wake, and a very aggravated William, who glanced into his appointment book with annoyance. 

“So much overtime.” 


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you, my lovely readers. I was on a roll today; possibly because the weather is so shitty and I have two quizzes coming up this week in communication and psychology... So what better use of my time than writing fanfiction about the two most delicious characters in the history of the universe? 
> 
> This is also fairly un-beta-ed, so all the mistakes are my own and I take full responsibility for being an uneducated, inattentive moron.

“You must be joking.”

“There is absolutely no way they would _ever–,_ ”

“You heard it yourselves, clear as day, they are sending those mid-ranges to–,”

“Yes, but–,”

Ciel Phantomhive sighed frustratedly, turning to look at his coworker, who sat in his desk chair, bored, staring at the computer screen absent-mindedly. The NSA had turned out to be less than exciting to infiltrate, Ciel decided. He glanced at the group of men arguing next to the coffee machine. One of them, the one, whose soul seemed to smell so bad it covered the entire premises of the building with its oily, musky, horrifying stench, had a cigarette pressed between his lips. Even with that impediment, he seemed to be intent on proving his point. The argument escalated in volume and emotion, and the men started shoving each other childishly, one of them even dropping his cup on the floor, causing the revolting teal carpet to stain. The oily man looked like he’d had enough, and a second later, clocked one of the others in the face. The second it happened, the smell of rot got stronger, and Ciel bent his neck down not to take in more than he had to. 

“I bet even _you_ wouldn’t take that kind of sustenance, Sebastian,” he muttered to his partner. The man sitting next to him, clad in a charcoal suit and tie ensemble, with a finely pressed shirt and shiny shoes, too flashy for an average government worker, only responded with his lip twitching with disgust. 

“Master, I thought we have agreed on aliases–,” 

“Yes, yes. That does not change the fact that you are still Sebastian Michaelis, and always will be, for as long as we both shall exist,” Ciel answered sharply, quiet enough for the humans around not to hear. He had gotten quite good at mastering his physical capabilities: no longer did he look like a sickly thirteen-year-old boy stuck with the grace of an angel. He was now a young man around Sebastian’s age, still slightly shorter than his would-be peers, with a piercing blue eye and slate-colored hair. He was clad in a deep-blue suit with patched elbows and long pants, something he’d always envied the grown-ups for in the days of Queen Victoria. These days were long past, however, and Ciel Phantomhive was master and commander of his own body; the only thing he was unable to alter was that blasted mark on his eye. It seemed that the permanence of the contract presumed the permanence of the seal as well. He had gotten some very funny looks on their first day of work at the NSA, and immediately merited the nickname, Pirate. Sebastian, who rarely smiled these days, took special pleasure in emphasizing the moniker, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. 

“Whatever my Master wishes,” Sebastian responded, causing Ciel to roll his eyes. He had no idea why they were doing this; the only reason they decided to change their location of stay and go to the United States, of all places, was severe boredom. After World War II, Europe had been in shambles, the once-great nations struggling for sustenance and lying down for the States to throw them a bone like an injured mutt. Ciel had found it insulting, and had turned his back on his heritage. Sebastian, of course, had gone with him. Both had decided that front-row seats to the fun would be more entertaining, therefore joining the National Security Agency. They had not anticipated, however, that their entertainment would consist of watching a group of idiots manhandle each other. 

“Do you think they will do it, _Sam_?” Ciel asked pointedly, looking at the screen, wherein streams of intelligence data screamed that the Soviet Union had missiles on the way to Cuba. Honestly, Ciel thought to himself, had the Queen had such weapons at her disposal back in the day, she would have not needed Ash. Yet these humans insisted on flashy shows of my horse is bigger than your horse.

“I do not know, _John_.” Sebastian leaned back in his chair, gazing at the giant map that hung on the opposite wall. “Humans are so interesting, so shallow, so completely _blinded_ when they get their hands on powerful weapons, who knows what will happen–,” 

“ _Tch_. Just as I thought. You’re enjoying this,” Ciel said harshly, and watched as a smile sneaked its way on his stoic butler’s face. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“How so?” 

“One would think that you would have –,”

“Compassion? My, my, Master, it seems your _angelic_ side is showing itself,” Sebastian said the word with such succulent disgust, it was almost palpable. More than sixty years later, and he still had not completely come to terms with the fact that he was bound to serve an angel for all eternity, simply having resigned himself to his fate and set himself adrift. He just hoped no other demon would cross his path, the very idea of such humiliation in the eyes of his fellows was unthinkable. 

“Shut up,” Ciel seethed. He was fed up with Sebastian’s attitude. Had he been able to break the contract, he would have done it a million times over, considering the sour nature their relationship had taken on since his turning. Sebastian no longer carried out his orders directly, but sneakily weaseled his way out of each and every one. He was unsmiling and _dull_ when it was only the two of us, so much so that Ciel sometimes wished Grell would show up to irritate the demon. The redhead, it seemed, had taken his warning to heart, though, and the angel only occasionally caught a whiff of Death God whenever they were around some dangerous situation or other. 

“Oi, Smith, Jones, what the hell are you two doing sitting about? Let’s go get lunch!” One of the loud men turned towards them and waved his arm obnoxiously in a come-hither gesture. Ciel visibly recoiled. There was no way he would share his precious time with someone as lowly and bad-smelling, plus, neither himself nor the demon at his side had any use for human food. 

“I have work to do,” he replied and stared pointedly at his screen. 

“Oh come off it, you've been at it all day,” the man said loudly, approaching his desk. He put his arm around Ciel in a familiar manner, causing the smaller man to shrink into himself. His damn fear of being touched, despite his apparent invincibility, seemed to have stuck. “C’mon, Pirate Jones, lets get some grub before the Soviets come and–,” 

Sebastian roughly pulled the man’s arm away, his eyes slanted. 

“I will ask you not to touch him like this–,”

“What? He all yours, then? What are you two, a couple of queers?” The man laughed maliciously, leaning forward to challenge Sebastian. Ciel stood. 

“Stop it, you two. Se–, Sam, don’t bother. And you, whatever your name is, I told you didn’t want to go. I would say you cannot take a hint, but I did use direct words, so you are obviously just mentally challenged.” 

The man looked from one to the other and shrugged, his teeth gritted. 

“Whatever. Homos.” 

“Let it go,” Ciel muttered, stopping Sebastian in his tracks as the demon tried to follow the man and attack. They had enough power to level this entire establishment to the ground without even breaking a sweat, however, he would not have his butler engage in a petty fight with someone so much more inferior. Despite the fact that his title as Earl of Phantomhive was long forfeit, Ciel still believed in maintaining some semblance of decorum. 

The man shuffled away, muttering under his breath, and Sebastian sank back into his office chair, an irritated expression playing on his handsome face. Sebastian, as opposed to his master, was bound by contract not to change his appearance – as much as he would have liked to get out of the ‘disgusting meat suit I have been wearing for the past several decades’ (a direct quote by yours truly), he had no other choice but to remain the same. Though he could not complain as to the aesthetics of his appearance, after all, Sebastian Michaelis was nothing if not a handsome man, the demon was weary of being the same person for such a long time. His previous contracts had lasted several months, maybe a year at the most; such a development was unsettling to him, as a demon who liked his freedom. He glanced sideways at Ciel, who was tapping his nail against his teeth, lost in thought. Right. _Freedom_. That would never happen, Sebastian mused to himself. The angel was completely incapable of mastering his own supernatural powers, who was to say he could protect himself from attackers? The boy was afraid of the external world, despite his impressive wings and shimmering eyes. It was all just a spectacle. In reality, Ciel Phantomhive could do little with his angelic power, besides a couple of parlor tricks that included altering his appearance and sprouting feathery appendages. 

Sebastian had made uneasy peace with the fact that he was bound to the brat forever – after all, moaning and whimpering about the situation did absolutely nothing to rectify it. However, while their previous endeavors, back when Ciel Phantomhive had been the Queen’s Guard Dog, had been somewhat exciting, and had diluted the demon’s lazy existence with some semblance of worth, the mundanity of the modern world did not sit well with the thousand-year-old demon. War had been transferred from the streets to meeting rooms; and Sebastian detested it. Instead of bleeding blood, people now bled ink. It was sickening how weak the masters of the world had become. This petty war with distance-controlled missile seemed so… measly, so _low._ Humans were no longer interesting to the demon. They were just _there_. 

He sometimes wished for the Death Gods to show up simply to add some spice to his existence. Besides the ravenous hunger he could feel was eating away at his innards, Sebastian was completely and utterly _bored_. 

“It’s funny how some people project,” Ciel said quietly, watching the man’s retreating back. Sebastian turned to look at him. 

“Master?” 

“He’s been eyeing Henderson’s behind for weeks now. And he accuses us of… such feelings,” Ciel said, glancing sideways at his butler. It was strange to Sebastian how he himself had not noticed that. He was growing slack because of the lazy nature of the life they were leading. That was no good. 

“It’s something a narrow mind like his would easily conceive. We came here together, with no visible signs of having spouses, we do spend an unnatural amount of time with just the two of us…” Sebastian trailed off, hoping to get a rise out of his Master in this way. Ciel had been raised in Victorian England, after all, with strict social taboos and horribly constrained views upon things that had not been ‘traditional.’ As such, any mention of unorthodox activities had used to cause a pretty blush to spread over the young Earl’s cheekbones. 

“Then how about we give them something to gossip about?” 

“Huh?” 

Sebastian blinked, looking at the devious smirk that had sneaked onto his angelic Master’s face. Surely, he’d misheard… 

“I say, we give them something to gossip about.” 

“Master–,”

“What? Are you afraid of what some puny _humans_ would do?” Ciel grinned, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to the side. “Come on, Sebastian, where is your sense of adventure? I thought you were _bored_ anyway. Why don’t we horrify some humans?”

Sebastian regarded him for a moment. 

“I suppose sleeping with an angel is no worse than serving one.”

* * *

“Oh, G–,”

“Don’t you dare call out the Lord’s name while you’re in this position,” Sebastian hissed and bent down to sink his sharp teeth into the milky-white neck of the angel beneath him. He continued thrusting into the smaller body that lay prostrate on the uncomfortable hotel bed, making the headboard knock against the wall with characteristic _thuds_ following his every move. The young man below him only grinned and burrowed his fingers in the demon’s long, dark hair, tugging on it to make the man look him in the eyes as they glowed with an unnatural light. 

“Jealous, butler?” He asked teasingly, knowing that by riling Sebastian up he was digging his own grave. Too bad he couldn’t die, not really, so the proverbial hole in the ground would serve no other purpose but to ignite the demon’s passion through anger. He felt the sharp incisors penetrate the skin over his carotid artery and let out a breathy moan. Never had he thought this would feel so damn good, and with whom? Sebastian, his loyal butler, the demon who had once catered to his every whim as a child, who had dressed and bathed him, who had tucked him in when he had been afraid of the monsters that haunted his own memories. He had known, even back then, that the demon had been holding back on him: not to damage the future meal, as Ciel Phantomhive, the Child-Earl, had been so _delicate_ , so weak, so damn breakable. 

Now, however, he was Ciel Phantomhive, a reluctant angel, an immortal being gasping in response to the pleasures lavished upon him by his skilled pet demon. Sebastian could still do nothing to seriously harm him, as he was bound by contract not to; however the cautiousness he had displayed with the little Earl before had vanished, and was replaced by the demonic aggressiveness that was characteristic of his kind. He held nothing back, as Ciel did not demand it of him: the former Earl wanted to know what Sebastian had really been up to when extracting information on their cases by more… physical means. He wanted to know why it was that the willing victims had given up every last secret to the red-eyed man, what was it about Sebastian Michaelis that had made every woman and man in Britain fall to their knees and offer up their very hearts. 

His naked body trembled with pleasure; had he been human, his muscles would have already failed under the intensity of holding himself in this position. As it was, he only felt the white-hot ecstasy of his first real sexual encounter. He knew it was, perhaps, undignified of him as a former noble and as an angel to sully himself thus, subjecting himself to the sinful kisses of a being as dirty as a demon; yet he couldn't get enough of what Sebastian had to offer. He imagined it was just as painful for the other man: the shame of being engaged with something as _pure_ as an angel, and angel he had almost created himself by failing to protect his meal until the very end, it must have been suffocating for the thousand-year-old creature. However, the hunger for pleasure, be it food or sex, dominated within the older male and he immersed himself in Ciel with abandon, as if trying to reach for the soul he knew was no longer there. 

When Sebastian hit a particular spot within him, Ciel tossed his head back in a long, drawn-out moan, filthy words spilling from his angelic mouth. He felt nothing like an angel at that moment, he was covered in sin, just like he had been when Sebastian had first laid eyes on him; and he thrived in this state of familiarity between them. 

“How can I be jealous of God when I stole away his angel?” Sebastian hissed, littering Ciel’s neck with small bites and kisses, drawing blood and preventing the small wounds from closing by latching onto them again and again. Ciel’s armed came up and encircled his form, allowing the angel to thrust towards the demon’s ministrations, making more room for them to move and explore each other’s bodies. 

Neither of them initiated a kiss on the lips. For some reason, Ciel found it too intimate for the two of them, despite the fact that they knew each other better than anyone. He did not want Sebastian to have that part of him as well. Sebastian himself only spared a fleeting glance at the angel’s lips before pressing his mouth to the young man’s collarbone. This was not a condition of sentiment to either of them, instead, it was the liberation of long pent-up emotions, the torture of never being able to fulfill each others needs like they had first intended. 

Ciel’s vision went black with intense euphoria when Sebastian finally achieved his goal, rendering his master into a shaky, cursing mess. The demon himself let out a howl as he let go completely, sinking onto Ciel like a suffocating dark cloud, all dark feathers and red eyes. The two of them panted despite the fact that neither needed air to live. It seemed appropriate to have sex like humans, considering the fact that they had first gotten to know each other in human form. 

After pulling out, Sebastian made to get off the bed, his appearance returning back to normal, however he was stopped by a smaller hand encircling his wrist. He turned to look at his master who lay on the bad, debauched and red-skinned, his wings tossed out carelessly underneath him. 

“Stay for a while. Don’t question it.” 

The two lay in bed silently, a foot of distance between them, until both submitted to the unnatural want of sleep. 

* * *

The next morning, Sebastian woke up to find nothing of his master except a white feather and a drop of angelic blood that had sizzled a hole in the bedcovers.


End file.
